Breath of Fate
by AlexHamato
Summary: The metal breathed as it circled his head. It whispered to him when the nozzle veered over his ear, hidden by a soiled blue piece of cloth. Speaking to him; the gun mocked his bindings of iron, how his restraints cut into his skin to make bead-works of ruby. Clicking the safety back, the rolling thud of the live bullet being placed in the chamber, Leonardo waited.


_This actually started out as a drabble, and then mutated into a one-shot. It happens, I suppose. I haven't really edit__ed this like I probably should have, but I'm tired of messing with it. Heh heh heh. Hope ya'll enjoy the read, it was a fun project to write. _

_I do not own Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Nickelodeon does._

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Breath of Fate

The metal breathed as it circled his head. It whispered to him when the nozzle veered over his ear, hidden by a soiled blue piece of cloth. Speaking to him; the gun mocked his bindings of iron, how his restraints cut into his skin to make bead-works of ruby. Clicking the safety back, the rolling thud of the live bullet being placed in the chamber, Leonardo waited.

"Count down."

The man's teeth were rotten into his head, a lone black stub peeked out from the front, bottom end of his jaw. A rotten tombstone of enamel. Raising his head, Leonardo's steeled eyes pierced into the man's as he straightened himself as much as his bindings would allow.

Leonardo said nothing.

The man's sneer twisted and warped into a torn scowl, as he moved the end of the gun to point directly between Leo's eyes, waiting for a reaction. Leonardo gave him none.

"You're not quite understanding me. You killed my son. Purple Dragons, know of them? Bunch of stupid fuckers, mainly kids who just want a place to meet friends. As stupid as Henry was, he just wanted some damn friends. Not that hard to ask for his age. What? Fifteen? Something like that." The man crouched before Leo, spitting in his face before swinging and colliding the back of his hand against the dripping cheek. Leonardo made no movement, stirrings of guilt quickly diminished from his resolve. He said nothing.

"Answer me, damn it!" The butt end of the gun came down against the crown of his head, causing his vision to fade in and out, lights popping before his eyes. The man was big, towering over six foot at least, with a beer belly the size of the moon. Dirtied pale skin flapped out from the bottom of the shirt like a broken wing. Black, thick hair covered this skin and Leo refrained from tilting his head away from the man's stomach too much. He wouldn't show weakness, but he _really_ didn't want a face full of whatever was growing out of the man's body, it looked diseased.

Leo assumed his was in a shack of sorts, how he came to be here, or where he was exactly, he wasn't sure. Trying to move his hands from his sides, he found that he could not. They were tied at his sides, so that the back of his hands were pressed up against the ridges of the steel chair he was sitting in. His ankles and knees were bound as well, positioned widely in an undignified pose.

"And what will you do with my answer? Use it to condemn me? I have no regrets for what I have done. I am not saying what I did was right, because death is never right. But on the battlefield, everybody is risking their lives in the fight. As did your son," his voice was so small, in his ears; like he was hearing himself speak through water. He sounded so cold and mechanical, it sickened him.

"Battlefield? Where the fuck are YOU living? This is New York fucking city, not some battlefield with your fancy swords and shit." The man turned away, twitching with emotions as he walked back and forth, in front of him. The gun waved wildly around, the man's hands were shaking as he turned back towards Leo with a pained grimace. "My boy was only a kid, you fucker! What right did you have to take him from me! He was MINE!"

"He made his own choices. If you were there for him when you should have been, he never would have gotten caught up in that gang!" The words tumbled out of his mouth too quickly for Leo to retrieve them. He instantly regretted his words with the icy pull of his stomach down to his feet.

The man's face crumbled; an almost dead and begotten expression in his face. Unshaven, scraggly, and unkempt but Leonardo could still see the man's eyes. Dark and in pain.

"You don't know nothing," the man whispered softly, but Leo caught every word. A circle of dark metal was pressed against his forehead. Cold, smooth metal was soothing against his heated skin. Strange, twisted irony as that was. Leonardo didn't move, only held his eye contact steady with the man's, and listened to the angry, rushed breathing coming from his rotten mouth.

The gun bucked against him. No shot.

He was still alive, with his heart throbbing in his throat. He had to calm himself down before he could breathe again. The reaction was instinctual, to jump with icy fear ripping apart his gut. But he would control it; he wouldn't let this man get pleasure out of his weakness.

"Guess you're pretty lucky. My boy was never lucky. Always did stupid shit. Knocked up all these sluts and they started coming after me for money. I told the boy, that wasn't gonna happen. I ain't gonna pay for his little bastard brats." His lips twitched, almost a tremble as he rotated the chamber of the pistol. "Boy never stole from me, I'll give him that. Sons don't steal from father's, I always taught him that." A blank cartridge or death waited for Leo now.

Gun raised as Leo's stomach plummeted. The man grinded the cold metal against his forehead, twisting the nozzle so that the skin pinched and bruised. Leonardo said nothing, no cry of protest, no angry words, just a stoic expression to hide the writhing snakes of guilt behind his face.

Leo couldn't read the man's expression as he twisted the chamber once again, feeding in a new bullet. No shot, only an empty click that echoed through the small room. The dust covered lightbulb above him swung lazily from a chain. Trying to gather any saliva to coat his dry throat, Leo averted his eyes from the moving light. His heart sounded so loud in his ears, he was sure the man could hear it beat like a tempered drum.

"Used to hunt a lot, back when we lived up in Alaska. I grew up there, should've never left. But my damn wife brought us up here for work. The whore. Dead and good riddance, that cheating bitch."

"What are you trying to convey by telling me about your past? If you're trying to make me apologize, you won't have it. Your son knew what he was getting into. What was at stake."

"Shut up."

The man was puffing now, swelling up like a great bloated fish as he pressed the gun against Leo's mouth. Using a meaty hand to pry open his stubborn jaw, the man shoved the barrel down his throat. Leonardo gripped the chair tightly as he gagged around the gun, beads of sweat rolling down his face and trailing along his jawline.

Six spots, one bullet, and three blanks that have already spared his life. High chance of death, of his family searching aimlessly for the rest of their lives with low probability of ever finding his body. And if they did, what would they do? Kill the man, if they could find him, they would kill him. Just like the man intended to do to him, all for revenge. The gun was so close now, crawling down his throat as the man pressed the nozzle down with his own weight. Breathing was heavy, shifting and turning chamber were the steel lungs that fired the weapon up, made it tick.

Click of the safety taken off. Humming lull as the bullet slid into the cartridge. Waiting for the trigger to be pulled with his nerves on fire and his mind buzzing with mindless chatter.

He will not die here.

Mind snapped forward like a sprung rubber band as he clenched his teeth around the barrel of the gun. It bucked and hot, dry air was pushed down into his lungs as he whipped his head to the left. Using the momentum to bend the man's wrist against itself, he leaned his body forward as the chair tilted with him.

The man cried out in surprise as he was forced to drop the gun like an angry snake as he fell back we Leonardo's weight. Tucking his head into the hollow of his own neck and flipping his body forward, Leo brought down the legs of his chair against the man's shoulders and heard them crack and crumble under their force. Gurgled screams from the man did not distract Leo as he twisted his body in mid-fall, using the legs of the chair to lock the man in a vice and bring the much larger man down underneath him.

Now to release the bindings. They were chain and cut deeply into his skin, with his hands and feet completely separated, he knew he needed something to break the chains, by force. The man squirmed in pain underneath him, the dark eyes cloudy with pain from the broken collarbone.

Three o'clock from his head, the gun laid deceivingly harmless on it's side. Stretching his neck forward as he worked his way over toward the gun, Leo managed to wrap his mouth around the handle, gripping it with his teeth. Flicking his neck forward, he opened his mouth to toss the gun to his right hand, still bound to his side.

Barely catching the outside of the gun with the tips of his fingers, he allowed the gun to slip more into his hand and craned his neck to see his chained bindings at a better angle. Seeing that he could only successfully aim at the chains around his ankles, he swerved the point of the gun in that general direction.

Now to see if the man was actually bluffing, or not. Knowing that his skill with guns was lacking, Leo hoped that he didn't end up blowing off his own foot, instead of freeing himself. Salty water from his sweat leaked into his grim mouth, as his narrowed his eyes to focus them on his target. The gun was so awkward, so foreign in his hand. Already he missed the perfect balance, streamlined edge, and graceful design of his Katana.

Guns were bulky and loud, always drawing attention to themselves. Almost in the complete opposite of what he performed with his Katana. A tool for a silent kill.

A weapon that never distinguished it's enemies, always cut them down regardless of anything. Grinding his teeth together like millstones, Leonardo pulled the trigger. His hand bucked back and his heart jumped at the bright pop of light and sparks that flew in an instant. Hot pain burned his ankle, and he thought that for sure he had missed his target, until he looked down. Broken pieces of chain lay scattered around his ankle, which was bleeding profusely.

Having no energy to complain, he simply rubbed the wounded ankle against his other, which was still bound. The thick, warm liquid seeped down past the chains and covered his ankle in a slippery sheen of blood. Using the heavy lubrication for his benefit, he managed to slip his ankle out of his bindings. His hands were still bound, but they were at his hips, a reach he could make easily.

The man made no movement to stop him, actually, the man made no movement at all as Leo used his blood to cover his wrists and hissing in pain as he pulled them out of their bindings. They were sprained, at least, but not dislocated. Always a plus, in his mind.

Scrambling to his injured feet, he limped slightly as he picked up the gun once again, tossing it far away from both of them. Standing over his defeated enemy, he could not find any real anger inside. Pity and guilt stirred in his chest, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. An enemy should never be the source of his pity.

"What're you waiting for? Your damn swords are on that table, you bastard. Kill me like you killed my son!" Peppered white contrasted the dark, black hair that thinly covered his head. The man was old, weathered and wrinkled skin lay upon his face like a musty blanket that was stretched too far in its years.

"No."

"Why not? You didn't spare him, fucker!" Beaded strings of saliva shot from his writhing mouth, an expression contorted in physical and mental anguish. Leo's pity for the man grew so that it manifested into a painful bubble of air in his chest. His voice caught in his throat.

"Don't just stare at me all fucking night, finish me!"

"No." Eyes stinging, hands shaking, his mind whirling as if caught in a storm. He couldn't say anything besides that word, muttered in a mindless incantation. "No. No…"

"Don't say no to me, you _murderer_!" The last word came as a pained snarl, the man's voice laced with a poisonous venom that cut deep. Truth powered the man's words, whether or not Leonardo's blade was the one that cut down this man's son, there were many others. Many, many others that he always pushed into the back of his mind. He never thought upon.

How foolish and naïve he was, how young and stupid.

Leonardo wanted to object to that accusation, but he couldn't deny the truth. He has murdered, maybe not in cold blood, but a life is a life. He turned away from the man, with heavy lead in his foot as he limped away. Reaching his swords, he slung them across his back, in their rightful place. In the hands of a killer.

"Don't walk away from me, bastard! I'm not done with your murdering ass, I'll find you! There's all kinds of people looking for you fuckers. That's right; you're not the only one. I'm gonna make sure that each one of your kind rot in the ground!"

His sword sung as it slid from its sheathe and the blade cut the air as it circled the man's head. Pointing the blade at the bridge of the man's nose, right between his eyes, Leonardo could hear the steel of his blade breathe. It was a weary sound and made the Katana heavy in his hands. The fear in the man's eyes was reflected along the sleek blade as the point pressed into his sweating flesh.

"I'll take your family, like you took mine. You deserve it, all of you!"

"No."

Can't allow emotion to cloud his mind; no indecision with this blow. He will show mercy, he will make the death quick as he brings the sharp edge to slice open the neck, bright red fluids pooling out at his feet. Dowsing them in the warm stickiness that came with all blood. The man made no sounds as he fell face first in his own blood with a dull thud. Then nothing.

There was no instance more silent than after the death of a living being.

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A/N- Yeah, sorry I didn't give Leo more 'interesting' dialog, but it's not like he could LECTURE the dude. Heh heh heh. I'm not sure what exactly I was trying to portray here, really. Maybe something more along the lines of that people do what they must to survive, and protect the ones precious to them. Something like that? I'm not sure. I was trying to go more for a 'revenge' theme but that fell out of place. Maybe I got bored with it, who knows. If you count that as an ending, cool. I'm not sure if I'll eave it at that, I may come and add something more profound later, when I have eaten and have brain power. I'd like to hear any thoughts or opinions on this, I'd really appreciate it.


End file.
